


Skin and Bones

by electrickster



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Massage, Misunderstandings, Mysticism, Other, Post-Pacifist Route, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-07
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electrickster/pseuds/electrickster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You wake up so stiff, you can barely move.  Papyrus decides to help with a nice, long, relaxing massage.</p><p>And damn, is he good at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Slumber Hearty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576017) by [ToiletPaperPrincess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToiletPaperPrincess/pseuds/ToiletPaperPrincess). 



> I had way too much fun with this story, writing, and polishing, and polishing again. In this story, YOU decide the reader's gender as well as how romantic the relationship is. I've seen only one author do this so I'm giving her a nod here, as it is an awesome thing to do. In any case, Papyrus/reader needs more love, okay?
> 
> I SWEAR HE IS SUCH A CINNAMON ROLL

“COME ON, HUMAN! UP, UP, UP! IT’S TIME TO CONTINUE TRAINING TODAY!” Papyrus playfully knocks on your skull, tearing the bedsheets from your body. You shiver and glare at him. “WE SHALL MAKE SURE NO ONE EVER CALLS YOU WEAK AGAIN!” Papyrus crows, ignoring your expression. He’s wearing the same JogBoy outfit he dons for training Alphys, or you, or anyone under his supervision.

At the word “weak,” you are instantly reminded of your training with Undyne the day before—dodging spears, throwing the ones you could barely lift, attempting to do a push-up, or a pull-up, or an extensive run—

She had called you weak.

Repeatedly.

And now you were paying for it.

It was his idea in the first place, and you resented him for it, a little, but Papyrus had told Undyne about how you barely dodged his bone attacks whilst sparring—almost as if you _wanted_ to lose. You’d protested, but Undyne would have none of it, and so your self-defense lessons began with both her and Papyrus.

At least you got to spend time with them.

You murmur sleepily and attempt to move, but your arm cramps up and jolts of pain course through it, enough for the rest of you to leap up and try to extinguish the blaze by rubbing it back and forth.

“GOOD, YOU’RE UP!” Papyrus is cheered by your enthusiasm. “FOR A SECOND I WAS WORRIED SANS WAS INFLUENCING YOU TOO MUCH.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “YOU DO NAP FOR SEVERAL HOURS AT A TIME AND THAT ALONE IS WORRISOME.”

“Hey,” you grunt, still rubbing your cramped arm. “I told you that’s called sleeping, which humans need?” The end of your sentence goes much higher than you intended as your neck muscles tighten into brick. Involuntarily, you let out a whimper.

“THEN WHY DOES SANS DO IT?”

“Oh, you know him.” You reach up and tentatively rub your neck. Your entire body is one mass of coiled knots and you know it’s not going anywhere soon. “But, I really don’t want to—“ A flash of disappointment in his eye sockets.

“HUMAN, WE COULD END TRAINING FAR EARLIER THAN USUAL, JUST LIKE WE ALWAYS DO WHEN YOU GET TIRED.”

“Good idea.” In spite of your aches, you smile and attempt to get out of bed. A new wave of pain in your limbs and back puts a stop to that immediately. “That sounds great, really it does, but right now I can’t—move—“

Papyrus looks at you with an odd expression on his face. “HUMAN, WE ARE FRIENDS, ARE WE NOT?”

You forget to listen to your body crying out—Papyrus has never said anything like this before.

“Of course,” you groan, sitting up to reassure him with a hand on his heart-decorated pauldron. All those cooking lessons, days of training, letting you stay in the house, several hangouts and one…interesting date—how could he call your friendship into question?

“ALL OF THOSE COOKING LESSONS WE’VE SHARED, DAYS OF TRAINING, NUMEROUS HANGOUTS WITH ME, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND ONE ODD DATE I DOUBT YOU CAN EVER SHAKE FROM YOUR MIND, I MEAN REALLY, WHO WOULD? STILL, HOW CAN YOU CALL OUR FRIENDSHIP INTO QUESTION?”

You are speechless for several seconds before you realize exactly what he’s getting at. “It’s not that I don’t like you, really, I do,” you defend yourself wearily, “It’s just that Undyne really did a number on me yesterday and now I can’t move too much—it hurts.” You shrug with one shaking shoulder to demonstrate.

“SO YOU’RE HURT? BUT THE BATTLE TOOK PLACE YESTERDAY; YOU CANNOT POSSIBLY BE NOT-FULLY-HEALED YET!” At this, you can’t help but chuckle. You want so badly to correct him, but you find it impossible given your current circumstances.

“Actually, maybe you can help me with that.” Your breath hitches as you whisper into his non-existent ears exactly what’s bothering you and how he can help you. Rolling with it—that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

“AND THAT SORT OF THING HELPS?” Papyrus’s voice is filled with incredulity and wonder.

You glance at the door, sincerely hoping Sans can’t hear the conversation and get the wrong idea. You nod, just to be safe.

“NOT TO WORRY, HUMAN. WHEN SOMEONE IS IN TROUBLE, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL DISH OUT JUSTICE, WHICH IS JUST AS GOOD AS DISHING OUT MY COOKING IN ANY CASE! NYEH HEH HEH…” He chuckles at the end and takes off his gloves, giving his knuckles a sickly, yet satisfying-sounding crack.

You roll onto your front, closing your eyes and bracing for impact, wondering what you just got yourself into.

Instead, bony fingers gently press next to your spine, rolling upward in one fluid motion. You let out a moan without thinking, feeling your spine stir—the first step in its untangling.

“IS THAT NOISE YOU’RE MAKING A GOOD SIGN, HUMAN?”

You moan again as he pushes the base of his palms into the flesh of your back, shifting it in little circles. “Yeeeees,” you whine, not knowing how much you needed the stress in your muscles to melt away until Papyrus came to your rescue.

“OH.” Papyrus seems surprised and pleased with himself all at once. “IT’S ONLY NATURAL THAT I EXCEL AT SUCH AN EASY TASK, AND SUCH A FUN ONE AT THAT.” You don’t have time to digest what he’s saying as he continues along your spine, instinctively avoiding your vertebrae.

It sinks into you as Papyrus's hands do: inside or outside, you are both at least part skeleton. "Papyrus," you murmur softly, turning your face to his. Your neck immediately protests but you don't care. "You know what you're doing, don't you?"

"NEVER FEAR, HUMAN, I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS ALWAYS KNOWS WHAT I AM DOING!"

You laugh at his answer. "Can't argue with that," you chuckle, rumbling at his touch. "But you're also touching my bones, too."

Papyrus looks bewildered. "YOU ATE A SKELETON?!" He rolls you over for a moment and prods your stomach, and you have to fight hard not to laugh. You gently roll yourself onto your front again, and he takes the hint and removes his hand, settling it on the base of your back before giving you another delicious squeeze.

"No, silly." You sigh in simultaneous exasperation and pleasure. "I was born with one in...uh, me. But I only show it if I'm killed," you quickly add, just in case he wants to see it right this second.

"NO WONDER I COULD EASILY FIND OUT WHERE YOU WERE ALL TIGHT." Papyrus seems very pleased with himself, as well he should. He lets out a thoughtful hum and continues to dig his hands into your hips, just shy of being inappropriate. “AND HERE I THOUGHT YOU WERE A DESCENDANT OF SKELETONS!”

Even with this misconception, his knowledge of your anatomy surprises you as his fingertips glide up your back and over your shoulder blades, digging into just the right spots in the muscles beside them. And you can’t help it—you let out a very pleased whimper, much louder than you intended.

Papyrus puffs out his chest and pushes harder, making your shoulders unravel with a good, strong pain followed by a wash of relief. “That feels so good, Papyrus,” you begin to murmur but practically squeal out his name as he gives your spine a lengthy press, making your back crack in all the right places on the way up.

Perfect.

“OF COURSE IT DOES! I AM THE ONE DOING THE RUBBING!” Before you can even think of how conceited his statement is, Papyrus takes your hand in one of his own and kneads your sinew between his fingertips, forcing the hand that you didn’t even know was tense to loosen up. Papyrus stops massaging that hand but doesn’t let go, and you realize he is squeezing your forearm with his other hand in waves, sliding it to your shoulder as he does so. Your arm contracts, then relaxes, easing into a healthy tingle. “ER, HOW IS _THAT_?” he asks, genuine concern in his eye sockets.

You nod, speechless with the simultaneous gentleness yet effectiveness of the massage. Satisfied, he repeats the process on the other arm, and you close his eyes and let the sensations take over.

Neither of you speaks for the next several minutes—you are focused on the rapidly-dissolving tension and the pinpricks of elation in your flesh, and Papyrus is focused on giving them to you. Not a sound is exchanged save for a few animal groans from your end and a few “NYEH HEH HEH’s” from Papyrus. Evidently he is enjoying this as much as you are.

And indeed, you begin to feel strange—it’s a good kind of strange, similar to when you once lay down next to Napstablook. However, instead of feeling like the entire world was swirling around you as it did then, your body seems to sink into itself, unwinding and connecting where your back and Papyrus’s hands meet. Melded together, skeleton and skeleton, bone and bone, blocked only by thin layers of your flesh. It’s a cosmic sort of trance, your eyes closed—and you can tell Papyrus’s eye sockets are closed, too, somehow, you just know it—seeing stars within yourself, within the hands moving your flesh to and fro, it is almost as if you two and you two alone were revolving around the entire universe.

Too soon, much too soon, his hands peel away from you altogether. You instinctively raise your head to ask for more, but know that you have been at his mercy for longer than you should have been. “Thanks,” you purr, your voice much more silky than before. “I really needed that.” You throw your knot-less arms around his JogBoy shirt, very grateful for such service. Papyrus, for once, says nothing, and delicately wraps his arms around you in return.

His voice returns quickly, as you’d expect. “NO TASK IS TOO DIFFICULT FOR THE GREAT PAPYRUS, YOU KNOW.”

“But what about you?” You glance at Papyrus, who seems content to keep massaging you forever, but you can’t help but feel indebted to him. “It feels like you’ve been doing all the work.”

“OH, RELAX,” Papyrus coaxes, mentally cursing his own would-be pun. “IT WAS A TREAT TO SEE HOW MUCH OF MY RUBBING WAS SUCCESSFUL.”

He almost doesn’t have time to finish his sentence as you squeeze him harder. “Still, I’ll have to do something amazing for you in return.” Your voice oozes with gratitude and husky bliss.

“WELL IF YOU INSIST,” Papyrus gives you a wide, toothy smile and set out the bedroom door, his arm linked with yours.

Instantly, your blood freezes as you two encounter Sans, waiting right outside the bedroom. He does not look happy—or he looks _too_ happy. Either way, it’s very unsettling and his expression makes it perfectly clear that he knows something you don’t.

“Oh…hi,” you stammer, and blush against your will.

“GOOD MORNING, SANS!” Papyrus cheerfully greets.

"hello." He’s still giving you that creepy stare, and you gulp, much louder than you want to.

“It’s not what it—“

“YES IT IS.” Papyrus squeezes your arm tighter.

“’sup, bro?” Sans’s smile is wide as usual, but there is something in his eyesockets that appears particularly peeved.

“How much of that did you hear?” You can’t help but blurt out, and mentally swear for doing so.

Sans’s smile grows wider. “i heard enough. enough to know my brother’s happiness has ‘rubbed off’ on you.”

Papyrus stomps, not believing that you really walked into that one. “SANS!” You blush more and hide behind Papyrus, who doesn’t offer very much cover.

“No—wait—“ You stammer, trying hard to defend yourself. “It’s just that yesterday Undyne really got me good, so I was stiff today, and Papyrus was giving me a massage. That’s all.”

“huh? i was a little worried about what was going on in there. i was about to send you a text ‘massage’ to check up on you.” Sans’s grin falters for a minute as what he thought had happened flashed through his mind again.

Even you had to facepalm at that one.

“SANS, I SWEAR TO GOD—“

“good to see that that’s all it was. otherwise,” Sans stares at you, his eye sockets empty. You gulp and avert his gaze immediately. “you would have been _boned_.”

You whimper at all the implications, especially with the light in his eyes going out like that.

“SANS!! STOP TERRORIZING THE HUMAN WITH YOUR AWFUL PUNS!” Papyrus screeches, and the two of them continue their banter down the hall while you crawl back into bed, head swimming and body totally relaxed.

Looks like you were going to miss training today after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Papyrus gave you such a wonderful massage that one time, you can't help but return the favor.
> 
> Strange things ensue.
> 
> Not /really/ NSFW, but it's definitely implied. Let me know if I need to change the rating to Explicit. *shrug*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God. I finally did it. It was tougher than I anticipated but there you are my dears.
> 
> The part when the reader DOES repay Papyrus.
> 
> And Sans is always watching.

The snow beneath your feet crunches delightfully as you race to the large, familiar house with lights, your breath escaping in small puffs. This was it—another date, and you had something planned from the beginning, for once. No more flustery small talk, you would definitely repay Papyrus for the oh-so-relaxing massage he’d given you a while back.

This time, you were ready with a gift.

Clutching your parcel tighter, you rap on the door, your mitten muffling the sound slightly. You hear an equally muffled, “FEAR NOT, FOR I AM COMING!” from indoors, and giggle to yourself. Papyrus always had a lot of energy.

No sooner does he throw open the door than you bury yourself into his arms. “I SEE YOU ARE ENTHUSIASTIC ABOUT THIS PARTICULAR HANGOUT, HUMAN,” he chuckles, ushering you in before you can stomp the snow off your boots. 

Sans glares in with one blue eye and grins at you, but it sends a chill down your spine. “’sup?” You wave at him, and he waves back. “I was wondering if you biked here what with all the “petals” you’ve got.” His smug, knowing grin gets even wider.

You lift the parcel up, glad for an excuse to cover your embarrassment and the fact that you tracked snow in from outside.

“I brought you something!” You call out cheerfully, tearing the paper and revealing a golden flower you’d picked out yourself while wandering the edges of the Underground. Sans and Papyrus’s house had very few centerpieces, one of which was a dirty sock, another a picture of a bone, and one table bore nothing save for a rock covered in sprinkles. You were absolutely certain this flower in particular would liven up the place.

Sans’s eyes darken, and even Papyrus seems more than a little flustered at your gift. “HOW NICE, HUMAN,” he purred—did he grow pale?—“I’LL PUT IT NEXT TO ROCKY HERE. IT MIGHT LIKE A FRIEND, RIGHT, SANS?”

“perfect idea.” Sans glances at you what with looks to be a friendly smile, but you can instantly read the “you hurt him, you’re gonna have a bad time” look on his face.

“NOW THEN,” Papyrus takes your hand, catching you off guard. “LET’S BE OFF TO MY ROOM AND…DO WHATEVER WE DO WHEN WE…HANG OUT?” He leaves an unsubtle pause that worries you, and you glance at Sans, who is promptly heading out the door.

“off to work, you kids have fun,” he mumbles abruptly, slamming the door behind him.

You sigh, belatedly reaching a hand out to Sans soon after it had shut. Papyrus shakes his head slightly. 

“FRET NOT, HUMAN, I SHALL TALK WITH HIM LATER.” Papyrus seems almost completely oblivious as to what’s bothering Sans, but something else seems more prevalent on his mind. He puts a gloved hand on your shoulder, which instinctively tingles even through the cloth. “LET’S GO.”

“Wait,” you burst out, beckoning for him to lean down to whispering height. Your plans couldn’t wait, and you hoped he’d say yes. Papyrus’s eye sockets widen at your whispers, filled with incredulity and hope. 

“WOWIE! NO ONE’S EVER DONE THAT TO ME BEFORE!” he crows, taking you by the hand to his room. “I’M DEFINITELY WILLING TO TRY!” You giggle, clinging to him as you’re practically swept off your feet by his gangly speed.

Papyrus locks the door behind him and slips off his cape—you can’t help but notice just how _vulnerable_ he looks without it. You nod; this was exactly what was supposed to happen. With a sense of pride and authority in your gesture, you wave a hand towards the racecar bed, which Papyrus obediently sits on. 

Papyrus gets the hint of the flick of your hand and hesitates for a moment before gripping the bottom of his “battle body” and yanking above him, his expression carrying the same shy, defenseless look as a hermit crab without its shell.

For a moment, you gaze at him—you’d never seen him without his battle body, or even his other outfits. Oh God, was this the first time you really saw him topless? The thought makes your face burn, and he definitely notices, too—his gloves do a horrid job at concealing his newfound exposure. If you thought he looked vulnerable without the cape, he looked ten times as much without his battle body—so unusually slender, even for a skeleton.

“IF THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU, HUMAN, WE DON’T HAVE TO DO THIS.” Papyrus, ever sympathetic to your plights, tries to give you an out you don’t need, bless him. He slowly lets his gloves fall to his sides as you take him in, all perfect off-white bone, the structure of his ribs so symmetrical and aligned—

You just want to get your hands all over it.

You take a deep breath and shake your head. “Don’t you worry,” you reassure him, though your voice is shaking from excitement. “I didn’t mean to stare, you just look so different…” your voice trails off a little bit as you meet his eye sockets, taking note of the bright orange glow of his cheekbones. “So handsome like that.”

Papyrus’s cheeks grow yet brighter and you could swear his eye sockets have a bright tear or two in them. “OH…HUMAN.” For a moment you think he is having a moment of unbridled humility, and you smile at his rare lack of words. 

“DID YOU EXPECT THE GREAT PAPYRUS TO BE ANYTHING LESS?”

Of course.

You chuckle and playfully punch his humerus. “Turn over, silly,” you instruct, not taking your eyes off of him.

Papyrus obediently rolls over, exposing yet more ribs and his spine. “This might feel a little strange,” you warn, very slowly settling your weight on the bed, kneeling onto it such that you straddle his femurs. Papyrus doesn’t so much as twitch at this. 

“NO ONE’S DONE THIS WITH ME BEFORE, BUT IT IS NOT UNPLEASANT THUS FAR.”

You glance at the door, slightly paranoid about Sans, despite him having gone to work. His teleportation skills were to be feared. He’d gotten the wrong idea about what Papyrus said at least once before. Even so, the door is locked, and there is no sign of him—you relax and begin your work.

“Then let’s get started.” You crack your knuckles, and Papyrus giggles at the sound. Oh, Papyrus.

Leaning over to the point of crushing the middle of your chest with his spine, you reach up and caress his jaw bone, gently at first, but adding pressure in small circles in a path to the neck.

“OOH, HUMAN!” Papyrus moves his jaw bone as he squeals into the bed. “WAS THIS WHAT IT FELT LIKE WHEN I DID THAT TO YOU?”

Again, a temptation to look at the door.

Sans seeing you on top of Papyrus like this would guarantee you a bad time, and you shudder at the thought. Papyrus takes this as assent and purrs, satisfied. 

“EXCELLENT! OUR MASSAGE POWERS ARE AT AN ALL-TIME HIGH!” he exclaims, his excitement clearly audible even through the mattress.

You giggle, thoroughly encouraged by his enthusiasm, and press into his scapula. Papyrus seems to enjoy this and honestly, you do, too. After a while, you notice that you seem to be traveling down his rib cage and spine--but can't seem to stop yourself from continuing lower and lower--well, so long as Papyrus doesn't have any objections--you turn to look at him, and his eye sockets are practically dreaming what with the experience you're giving him.

So you gather your courage and caress his lower spine, running your fingers over and pressing the tissues that hold them together. Papyrus gives a sudden, sharp intake of breath he probably doesn't need, and you lessen the pressure to a faint tickle with your barest feather-touch of your fingertips and nails. Almost without realizing what you are doing, you trail your hands closer and closer to his pelvis, and a sudden, primal curiosity overtakes you. 

You plunge your hands inside, feeling the lumpy bone from the pubis to his hips, enjoying and marveling at the feeling of just how hard he is.

"H-HUMAN!" Papyrus squeals in that sultry falsetto of his, and you yank your hands back away as if they'd been burnt. 

"I'm s-sorry," you stammer, unconsciously brushing a hand over his femur to appease him. "Did I hurt you?"

Papyrus turns his head towards you again, oddly reminiscent of an owl. He smiles to reassure you. "NO, OF COURSE NOT," He swallows, "BUT THAT SPOT...IT FELT DIFFERENT WHEN YOU TOUCHED IT THAN WHEN I DID." He hesitates before speaking again, for once. "CAN YOU TRY THAT ONE MORE TIME? I THINK I QUITE LIKE IT."

A glimmer of a blue glow disappears under the door, and Papyrus fails to notice. A cold sweat breaks out all over your body, but you resume the massage anyway. Being able to do this to Papyrus, returning the favor he oh-so-blissfully bestowed upon you--it would be worth anything that Sans could punish you with afterward.

Who knows. Maybe you'd like it. 

At the very least, you weren’t hurting him. You dip your hands gingerly into his pelvis again and stroke it, squeezing it with your fingers, loving the smoothness of it all and especially the strange, violent blush on Papyrus’s face at your touch. 

Another, much louder moan escapes Papyrus’s mouth and you suddenly realize exactly what you’re doing to him. “Oh dear,” you mumble, sliding off of him and covering your face with your hands.

“HUMAN?” You ignore him, standing up, but realizing that if you left you might run into Sans, who could be anywhere, and _that_ wouldn’t do at all.

So you settle for sinking into a heap at the foot of Papyrus’s bed.

Papyrus clears his throat. “I APPRECIATE THIS BUT EVEN SO THAT WAS QUITE ABRUPT!” You bury your face deeper into your hands, trembling slightly—such loving, receptive reactions, such moans of pleasure that he’d made, such a fearsome orange tint on his face—you’d destroyed a piece of his innocent self simply by touching him, and you know this incredibly well.

“I can’t do this.” You don’t even have the courage to lift your head to look at him.

“HUMAN,” Papyrus chides softly, settling next to you and wrapping his bony arms around you and _damn_ his exposed bones are pressing into your arms. You suppose this feels good.

“I TOLD YOU NOT TO GO THROUGH WITH IT IF YOU WEREN’T READY—BUT THAT WAS QUITE AN EXPERIENCE!” Papyrus booms, clapping you on the back. “YOU’VE NO NEED FOR SHAME, HUMAN—I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, CAN HANDLE ANYTHING!” He pauses in his comfort to stand and fistpump exactly once before sitting back down and holding you again. 

The corner of your mouth turns up a little at his antics—he really _is_ slender without his “battle body.”

“BUT…” His tone grows oddly serious. “IF ANYTHING IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU, YOU DON’T HAVE TO DO IT. NOTHING IS WORTH HURTING YOU.”

That did it. 

You throw your arms around Papyrus, moved by his words and determined to give him a good time without going overboard. “I promise…” you begin, but deftly flip him onto the bed before you can finish your promise.

“HUMAN!” Papyrus seems bewildered, then his grin matches your own. “YOU DO WHAT YOU NEED TO,” he beams, wriggling underneath you into a position that’s comfortable for you both.

You are careful this time, not plunging your hands into his hip bones, but instead resuming the intense touch of his ribs, shoulders, and even mimicking his hand massage through his gloves. Papyrus notices this but does not turn his head.

“I SEE I HAVE TAUGHT YOU A FEW THINGS,” His voice sinks into the mattress but you can just barely make it out. You give him a reassuring squeeze and resume running your hands over his bones.

If you were dimly aware that both you and Papyrus were at least part skeleton when he massaged you, you know it perfectly now—it was almost as if someone was running a finger across the ribs, the spine, the neck you were touching and your own, all at once. You blend right into him, in tune with his needs, sensing exactly where he wanted to be touched and pressed, and, although his bones did not yield, you know, you just know, when a would-be muscle untied itself or a particular rib was tickled or scratched _just right_. 

Papyrus’s “OH, HUMAN…”s helped, too.

Before you know it, you find yourself stretching out over him again to finish right where you began, at the jawbone, applying those little circles you’d started out with. 

Papyrus looks so sweet, innocent, and absolutely content beneath you—his eye sockets closed, his back lifting with each breath (puzzling, but oh so amazing), his teeth plastered into a serene smile—

You can’t help but give him a quick peck on the jawbone.

Papyrus opens an eyesocket and chuckles. “I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT,” he grins, patting your head.

You smile in response, then rest your shaking arms at his sides. Massaging, even a skeleton, required more muscle work than one would imagine. “Can I just,” you breathe, “Can I just stay here a while?” Your body is almost as sore as it was before Papyrus had massaged you, although it has definitely recovered some since then.

Papyrus shifts a little, whether it’s from surprise or a desire to make you more comfortable—perhaps both, you don’t know—and happily acquiesces. “YOU’VE EARNED IT, FRIEND.” 

And so you rest on top of Papyrus, rising and falling with his back, legs pressing against his pelvis, your heartbeat whispering against his spine. 

“YOUR SOUL IS MOVING, ISN’T IT?” Papyrus does that slightly unsettling head-turn to face you. “I FELT MINE MOVE WHILE YOU DID THAT, TOO.”

“Actually, it’s just my—“ Tears fill your eyes as you see the wonder in his. He deserves to be protected, loved, comforted, everything—And this you feel in every beat of your heart and every movement of his soul.

“Yeah. It’s moving quite a bit.”

And this, you find, is true.


End file.
